


There Is A Light That Never Goes Out

by wacomintuos



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Homophobic Language, Illegal Activities, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Murder Kink, Slurs, Snuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 16:28:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14084961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wacomintuos/pseuds/wacomintuos
Summary: Kenny McCormick can't die. Eric Cartman wants to make money.Together, they could be brilliant. It's not a bad idea.





	There Is A Light That Never Goes Out

**Author's Note:**

> so, here's something i wrote a while ago as a proof of concept for something i've been thinking of for a long time. i told myself i wouldn't post it until i'd written at least another chapter but hey ho, never got round to it, might as fucking well! this is something i'd like to continue but probably won't but i think it holds up well for just being on its own. i love writing kenny and cartman and their interactions! i might come back to this if people like it, so. comment, give me feedback!
> 
> disclaimer because i feel the need: i have no practical interest in snuff films. there is no evidence of snuff films ever having existed in real life. i just like the idea of eric and kenny exploiting such an ilicit industry because of immortality.

**prologue**

The old bed creaks as Kenny sits down and sinks into the mattress. When he realises that he’s forgotten the most important ingredient to his diabolic plan, he’s sure that the bed will break from the groan it gives out when he leaves it. He’s past caring at this point though- he’s had the same one since he was about six years old and he can assure it that it’s seen worse. 

When he lies down again he’s holding both his laptop and a belt along with an insidious grin. He feels a spring break beneath his weight and again: he doesn’t care. “Shut it,” he mutters under his breath. Can the bed decide to give up the ghost another day perhaps? 

Kenny opens up the laptop, resting it on his thighs. He checks that he’s still logged into the house’s shitty broadband before he opens Chrome, opening Coonstagram for a few seconds to scroll through myriads of posts he doesn’t give a shit about before he gets to business. He wraps the belt around his neck, clicks Pornhub in an incognito tab, and searches in the usual. 

He’s about to click on a video when his phone rings. 

Kenny rolls his eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” He groans, setting the laptop aside to reach over to his phone where it’s lying on his floor on top of his coat. It’s Cartman, and Kenny sees absolutely no problem with turning down the call. Fuck that dude- he’s _busy._

Back to the laptop. The bed practically _wheezes,_ and Kenny _still_ doesn’t care. He manages to click the video this time before the phone rings again and he’s forced to retrieve it. What does Cartman want? Jesus, Kenny is busy and if his darling dearest best bitch doesn’t stop then he’s going to just turn the dumb thing off. He refuses the call again and goes back to the video. Kenny ends up with one hand in his jeans before he gets a text. He growls in irritation.

_Kenny what the fuck. PICK UP YOUR PHONE_

At this point he’s not going to answer out of spite, but that one small part of him is beginning to wonder what the big deal is. Cartman calls him again about a minute later and begrudgingly, he picks up.

“Hello, you’ve reached the McCormick household. Sadly, Kenny’s busy right now but if you wanna leave a message, go ahead and he’ll get right back to you! Just after the beep, thank you.” Kenny hesitates for a second before adding, _“Beep.”_

When he hears the loud inhale on the other end, he knows this is gonna be good. “Jesus Christ, Kenny, I know you’re there, I’m not dumb. I know what your answering machine sounds like, you piece of shit.” Kenny holds his breath. “What’s your deal? This is important, talk to me. You’re gonna love this.” 

Kenny is completely silent other than unpausing the porno and turning up the volume, phone still in hand. Cartman pauses mid speech, and Kenny just tries his best not to laugh.  
“Kenny, you fucking douchebag, you had _better_ not be jerking off right now.” There’s clear exasperation in Cartman’s tone. “Alright, alright, I’ll cut to the chase if you get your hand off of your dick: how would you like to make a bunch of money?”

Kenny pauses the video. “Nuh uh.”

“You didn’t even listen to what I’m offering here!”

“Eric, Eric, my friend. I’ve seen enough of your shit to know I doooon’t really wanna be part of that, okay? Anyway, I’m busy. Talk later!” He unpauses the video and is just about to hang up when he hears angry shouting from his friend. _Some things never change._

“God fucking damn it Kenny! If you don’t stop watching porn right now and listen to what I have to say I’m gonna cut off your legs and feed them to you!” And then, “No, don’t you dare hang up on me, don’t you dare!!”

Kenny hangs up. Tightens the belt. Smiles.

The phone rings again. 

“Hello, you’ve reached the McCormick househ-”

“GOD DAMN IT, KENNY!” Oh, he’s pissed. Kenny knows that there’s no reasoning with Cartman when he’s like this, and if he doesn’t just keep phoning him and interrupting his porn session, he’s probably going to hunt Kenny down and break through his window. Kenny really can’t be bothered with the thought of Cartman pestering him so he closes the laptop, throws away the belt, and zips up his pants. 

There’s a loud sigh before he leans back into his pillow. “Alright, fat boy, what were you thinking?”

Cartman seems much happier now, and the tone of his voice reminds Kenny of how he would look when he curled his fingers through the telephone line when he’d ring Stan or Kyle when they were kids. “Ah, I’m glad you came to your senses.” Kenny can also compare him to a cat when he seems to purr like this, but honestly he’s too annoyed to bother. “Okay, so, I’ve been trawling through the dark web and I spoke to this dude on an internet relay chat.”

He says these terms with some reverence, and he quotes the full names as if Kenny doesn’t know what the IRC is- or that it wasn’t him who taught him how to use Tor in the first place, years ago. So Kenny can probably be excused for not sounding too enthusiastic. “Uh huh,” he nods slightly, already bored. 

“No no, you don’t know the half of it, Kenny! It turns out someone’s looking for an actor and I think you’d be perfect for the role! And we get a bunch of money! I, of course, as your agent, get maybe seventy or eighty percent, probably eighty percent, of the cut-”

“You’re asking me to be some kinda porn star for some queermo you met on the deep web?” 

“No, silly.” Cartman’s voice is sickly sweet and patronising to boot, talking to Kenny like he’s a toddler. “Don’t you know anything, poor boy? Porn doesn’t pay that well at all, believe me. I’m not asking you to be that kinda actor. No, I want to sell you to a guy who’s gonna cut you up into little tiny pieces and put you into little jars for fun.”

Kenny thinks about that for a second, looking at his nails. The sparkly polish he’s been wearing for the past two days is awfully chipped. “So you’re not asking me to do regular porn, you’re telling me I should do snuff porn.”

“God damn it, Kenny, there’s no porn! Stop thinking with your dick!!”

“Oh.” Then what does he want? 

“Yeah, _‘oh’!!_ Holy shit, just shut your stupid mouth and listen, got it?” There’s a pause, and Cartman waits. A moment passes before he says again: “Got it??” Kenny sighs and agrees because really, that’s all he can do at this point. 

“Okay, so. You die all the time, right? What if you got paid for it? Because I was thinking, what if you did snuff movies? I kinda had this plan. I sell you to this guy and he does whatever the fuck he wants to you. I get paid thousands of dollars for your body! You come back to life. You get twenty percent of the money. The dude forgets you were even there so we sell you back to him until he’s broke! And then we do it to some other dumb fuck! Rinse and repeat and I-” Pause. _“We-_ are rich.”

Kenny is quiet for a long time, staring at his feet and the hole in his socks. Cartman keeps talking. “Ke- Kenny. Fuck, are you still with me? _Kenny.”_

“...Uh huh, I’m still here, dude.” Kenny keeps staring at his feet.

Cartman seems as lively as ever while Kenny has his small mental breakdown. “Okay, are you in? This has gotta be my best plan yet! People are gonna pay through the nose to kill a cute little twink like you!”

He knows better than to question Cartman’s wording at this point in their lives. “Uh…” Kenny isn’t really sure what to say to that. Usually he’d do anything for good money, but this? It’s a little much, even for him.

“Are you in? Come on, Ken, your poor ass ghetto family’s never gonna go hungry again. Come ooooon, Kenny. You can do it, take one for the team! Thousands of dollars, dude!” Cartman keeps pressing him for an answer before Kenny finally groans.

“Thousands of dollars, huh?” He asks, humming. He has to admit that it is a pretty good plan, definitely one of Cartman’s better ones. It seems pretty foolproof in theory. “How much of that do I get?”

The answer is firm. “Twenty percent.”

Kenny finds a smile as he responds, “Oh, man, you sure uh, you sure are breaking my balls here. I don’t really think I’m willing to die for anything less than sixty five, y’know?”

“Kenny, I swear to god, I hate you so much. Thirty percent. Final offer.”

The smile grows. “Shit, seventy percent? Awww, Eric, you’re the best friend ever!”

Kenny can almost _see_ Cartman’s cheeks redden over the line in his pure, unadulterated anger. “Seventy percent, are you fucking me? No. Kenny, no! I put my foot down. Thirty or nothing!” Kenny whistles, and Cartman reconsiders. They both know damn fine that Kenny won’t do shit unless he’s paid. He is poor, after all. That’s not _his_ fault. “Forty.” When that doesn’t get a response, Cartman grows desperate. “Aw, come on! Sixty. Sixty and you fucking owe me. Please, Kenny.”

Just to make the other man squirm just a little more, Kenny whistles again before he sticks his tongue in between the gap in his teeth that he’d just never bothered getting fixed with braces. “Sixty’s not really a lucky number for me. Seventy, though, is pretty lucky. And then there’s eighty five, that’s a sexy number. I can feel myself getting hard again when I hear eighty five percent…”

 

“Kenny! Kenny, no! Fuck off, ghetto trash, no! You are _breaking_ my fucking balls!” There’s a long, long silence before Cartman says in a very meek voice, “Sixty five percent. You can have sixty five percent.” He sounds weak, as if the words have wounded him. They probably _have._

Good. Kenny finds that quite satisfying. “Perfect! Glad to do business with you, Eric. So, all I have to do is show up and die on camera, huh? Easy enough.”

“Yeah.”

“Nice.”

There’s more silence, but Kenny doesn’t think it’s that awkward. He’s well used to silence. 

“Guess I should let you get back to jerking off then, huh.” Kenny bursts out laughing at how seriously Cartman says that and how damn _depressed_ he sounds like they’re not both going to get plenty of money from this. “Stop laughing at me!”

“I’m not laughing at you, dude, come on.” Kenny snickers. “Just, oh man, what are you wearing?”

Cartman seems to _think_ about it. “Uh, pants, a t-shirt, socks, a sweater, an-” He realises. “EY.” 

Kenny just laughs even more, immediately reminded of the time he had died from laughing too hard at Cartman when they were little. Jesus, this man will probably be the end of him for real. “Kenny, that’s not funny, stop bringing me into your faggy little fantasies, holy shit, I hate you!”

Kenny forces himself to breathe. “Okay, I’m really really sorry, do you want me to give you a hug to make you feel a little better?”

“Well yes, that’d be nice, but.” Another sudden realisation. “Hey! Fucking stop that, you fucking queer!” 

Cartman’s fury is always a joy to Kenny’s ears, but he nods. “Yeah, yeah, okay, sorry, Eric. I’ll let you go now, okay? Take care of yourself, don’t eat too much KFC and wash behind your ears. I’m gonna go beat my meat now. Let me know when we’re doing the snuff shit.”

He can hear grumbles of _‘I hate you Kenny’_ under Cartman’s breath as he hangs up, and if Kenny is honest, he wouldn’t have it any other way. He lets out a long sigh, looking back to his laptop.

Then he hears the front door shut. Karen’s back. Fuck. 

Well, it’s not like all that talk about death for TV was doing much for his libido anyway, he reasons to himself. He probably wasn’t gonna be able to jerk it after all that anyway. Kenny sighs, staring up at the ceiling woefully before he decides it’ll be fun to see how long it’ll take to smother himself to death with his pillow.


End file.
